


Shift

by bearonthecouch



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mass Effect 2, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Protectiveness, Saving the Normandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: "They are gone, Jeff," EDI tells him, needlessly.They are gone. And he is left, broken and drifting.Wait...Jeff?





	Shift

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Shit!"

He's babbling, he knows it. And more than that, he's babbling the kind of word that's totally unprofessional, although really what else do you say when you're about to die? He could let fly an entire string of expletives, the way Shepard does, but -

"Shit!"

Can't think about Shepard now! What is  _wrong_  with him?

His heart hammers in his chest and he squeezes his eyes shut but keeps moving, listening to crunching metal and the useless patter of offloading clips, semi-automatic, and the eerily quiet gliding of the Collectors.

His limping is far too slow, the familiar agony that accompanies each step making impossible to move fast enough, but he refuses to die trapped and helpless. Not again.

Except he didn't die the first time, but she did.

There is a strangled scream, close enough to reach out and grab, and his mind screams at him louder: "Run, idiot!" In moments like this his mind doesn't remember that his useless broken body makes it so that he  _literally_  could not run if his life depended on it.

"Shit shit shit shit," he mumbles, as he half-scrambles/half-falls down the access hatch that carries him through the Normandy's vents. Crawling through the ducts, listening to the rustling false wind echoing through the empty spaces. The metal bones of his ship, solidly cradling him, is somewhat comforting, combined as it is with the knowledge that  _they will not find him here_. He wonders how long he could stay, hidden in the dark. Could he stay until Shepard gets back? Could he stay until -

"You are approaching the core, Mr. Moreau."

Right. He isn't  _hiding_. He's saving the Normandy.

Even if...

He stands there thinking it over, drumming his fingers on the reassuringly heavy access console with the words AI CORE helpfully stenciled in neat letters.

"Connect the core to the primary control module," the voice urges.

" _Great_ ," he spits, whining about how he  _knows_  this is a terrible idea and so does everyone else who's ever watched a movie  _ever_.

But he does it.

"Thank you, Mr. Moreau."

"You're welcome," he says softly, reflexively, and EDI sends him crawling back into the ducts with a joke that makes him smile, he can't help it. His laughter rings all around him, bouncing off of the close metal walls. The impossible absurdity of the situation carries him through the tiny crawlspace.

He drags himself to the drive controls, listening to the electronic voice, soothing as it talks to him with a repetitive familiarity, telling him what to do, guiding him. Sharing  _plans_ , as if he could stop any of this from happening. He claws for whatever survival he can grasp because it is his only choice. He follows EDI's directions even though he's fairly certain the ship could fly itself without him anyway, because isn't that what AI is  _for_?

His hand slaps the button and he collapses, listening to the song of electronics, the thrum of the engine. He curls up at the base of the console and mourns alone, a single living ghost in the machine.

"They are gone, Jeff," EDI tells him, needlessly.

They are gone. And he is left, broken and drifting.

Wait...  _Jeff_?

His head swims, all the pain and fear of the second death of the Normandy crashing over him.

"I have control," EDI assures him, the last words he hears as he lets his eyes slip closed, trusting her.


End file.
